


modern love on vinyl

by softshocks



Category: Ocean's 8
Genre: F/F, pre and post-movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softshocks/pseuds/softshocks
Summary: Lou, Debbie, and the records throughout the years.





	modern love on vinyl

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the terrible official character playlists on spotify. According to [schaudenfreudes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/schaudenfreudes): “Who looks at sandra bullock and says ‘ah, time to put good old ed sheeran on this playlist’?” But seriously is the spotify intern who put iris and john mayer in most character playlists ok can someone check up on them
> 
> Some fic tags I had to remove but are still relevant: #lou is a stone-cold butch lesbian that can’t ever admit she has a crush on someone, #debbie ocean my favorite ISTJ new wave bisexual please text me back
> 
> Anyway here’s a [complementary playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3z9Rj5GZlkgn6AHZRvsK-bQmRYUZTUx1) I curated, and here's a [debbie ocean is a heartbreaker playlist](https://t.co/A1MZgafumC) I made with my friend, [oceanssapart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanssapart/pseuds/oceanssapart)!

_o._

 

When the team, minus Tammy, find out that she and Debbie didn’t meet on a job nor through a network of organized crime, everyone makes a big deal of it, much to their, mainly Debbie’s, annoyance.

(Lou only thinks it’s funny. “Shockingly, organized crime is not my only hobby,” she tells one very shocked Constance and takes the opportunity to steal a sip from the girl’s soda.)

“How’d you meet, then?” Amita asks.

Lou looks to Debbie, whose ego is most likely bruised at the thought of the crew finding out the real reason - one that isn’t as badass as conning men until they’re broke through and through. Much to Lou’s surprise, she shrugs, signalling for Lou to talk for the both of them.

Lou looks back at Amita, but not without an eye roll directed at one, very annoyed and very attractive, Debbie Ocean. “Back in ‘03,” she says, her eyes not leaving Debbie, who finally looks at her and she’s taken back to that fateful night in the New York theatre, “We met at a Fleetwood Mac concert.”

-

_i._

_no matter what goes wrong  
_ _you’ll never be alone, baby_

 

“You owe me big time for closing for you tonight, you big lesbian,” Jake tells her, throwing a rag over his shoulder. Lou makes her way around the booth, flipping him the finger on the way out. He’s a jackass, but a loveable one, and Lou remembers exactly why when he yells: “this shift will only be worth it if you end up sleeping with Stevie Nicks herself!”

Her crush on Stevie Nicks is just about a running joke at the bar, just as much as Jakey’s third girlfriend splashing a martini in his face.

Lou Miller doesn’t have crushes. Lou Miller charms women to their toes and takes them to bed, kicks them out before the sun rises. Lou Miller takes, doesn’t let anyone go below her belt. Lou Miller doesn’t pine.

Stevie Nicks, however, is an exception.

Jake, Max, and Claudette from the bar know this, and is using the only chip in her armor to tease her by scoring some pretty good seats to the Fleetwood Mac concert.

(“Only if you’ll admit you have a crush,” Claudette grinned. “Come on, Lou. We know you’re a molten stone butch for her.”

They’re free tickets, and Lou never backs down from a challenge.)

Lou stands in the middle of the front row crowd, surrounded by people who are more or less her age, some much older and some much younger, and she doesn’t mind it one bit.

Before Stevie, walks onto the stage when Lou spots her,  _not Stevie_ , but: tall, with shoulder-length chestnut hair, mean eyes, a long nose, gorgeous lips and cheekbones that could kill; dressed inappropriately for a mosh pit. She sticks out like a sore thumb, a few meters away from where Lou stands.

The crowd drowns out, even when the band walks onstage. Lou moves closer, shoulders and arms squeezed by the people moving around her.

“So will you be explaining why you came near me or will I be issuing another restraining order?” is the first thing the woman says to her, though there’s a small smile on her lips that drains out the bite of her words.

“Another?” Lou clucks her tongue and leans on the metal post. “Hey, sweetheart, just tell me to fuck right off and I will.” And Lou meant it, she wouldn’t be wasting the other woman’s time if she was uncomfortable or bored, but how the woman stands in front of Lou: sure, secure, as if she could pack several strong punches - Lou knows the woman could have left without speaking a word to her.

The woman makes a show of thinking, her sleek, expensive coat gathering some snowflakes on the shoulders. “Hmm. Maybe they’re not as charming or considerate as you are.” 

“Well, baby, I’m no serial killer.” The people have cleared out, and it’s just the two of them in the parking lot, save for a few people waiting for their rides. “I do, however, wonder why you’re alone tonight.”

“That’s a very… serial killer thing to say, did you know that?” She answers the question anyway. “I had no one to come with me. My brother and I have the biggest crush on Stevie but he had work to do.”

Lou would rather let the earth swallow her alive than admit she has a crush, let alone on someone as majestic as Stevie Nicks, so she opts to inspect her nails and say: “she’s okay,” despite every single fiber of her lesbianism is protesting. She regrets it immediately, but hopes to God she doesn’t show it.

There’s silence, then: “I think that’s worse than being a serial killer.”

Her insides are hurting, most likely from how it physically hurts to say a gorgeous being is otherwise. “I can think of a lot of things worse than that, but alright.”

“We’ve only spent a few minutes talking but I think you’re insufferable.”

“I’m not insufferable,” Lou says, settling back to this banter though she will admit that the piercing eyes of this woman in front of her  _should_ terrify Lou, despite being a few inches shorter than she is. She extends her hand, gives her a small smirk that only seems to grate the other woman’s nerve. “I’m Lou Miller.”

She huffs, but takes the hand anyway. “Debbie Ocean,” she says, and Lou likes the way she says it, likes her voice, likes that teasing look behind sharp eyes. “Though you’ve revoked your right to a name for calling Stevie Nicks ‘okay’.”

Lou only rolls her eyes, though she knows Debbie Ocean is probably never going to let that go. “Will it seem like a serial killer move to invite you to my place for some drinks?”

“Yes,” says Debbie, but she loops her arm around Lou’s and goes anyway.

(They don’t have sex, but they do go through Lou’s collection of Fleetwood Mac records. “This is a whole lot of records for someone who thinks Stevie Nicks is ‘okay’.”

Lou laughs, pouring them another glass of whiskey. “Has it occured to you that I was lying?”

“Yes, actually.” Debbie stops going through the records to look at Lou, a tiny, sly smile telling her that she  _did_  know. “You’re a terrible liar. You have the biggest crush on Stevie Nicks, Lou Miller.”)

-

_ii._

_pretty baby, you look so heavenly_ _  
_ _a neo-nebular from under the sun_

 

Lou never hears the end of the Stevie Nicks incident, when Debbie inevitably meets the folks at the bar on a night that she and Lou were going to drive off to the nearest casino and get men and women to buy them drinks before winning jackpots.

(“You should have seen her,” Debbie tells them, and Lou can tell she’s trying to be comfortable talking to three ridiculous, extroverted bar-owners. But she’s doing well. “She was sweating like a sinner in church.”)

When Debbie saunters off to select a different song and Jake and Max go and fix some early customers with their usuals, Claudette fits her fist under her chin to look at Lou like she  _knows_ something  _she_ doesn’t. “I know being a stone-cold butch lesbian revokes your ability to  _admit_ you have a crush on someone, but,” she points to Debbie, who is looking through the Blondie records that Lou brought to the bar, “you are  _hopeless_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I like her, Lou,” Claudette continues, clearly ignoring her. “I mean, there’s the whole ‘my-family-is-a-bunch-of-convicted-felons thing going on, but I think that makes me like her even more.”

Before Lou can respond, saying something along the lines of ‘ _yeah, me too,_ ’ and, ‘ _Jesus, no, I think Debbie Ocean isn’t the shit_ ’, the woman in question comes back to the bar and finishes Lou’s drink. “Didn’t peg you as a Blondie fan, Ocean,” drawls Lou, raising an eyebrow when Debbie sets the glass on the bar, ice clinking with each other inside it.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Debbie chuckles, touches Lou’s knee. The heat of it seeps through the material of her pants.

Lou clears her throat, not wanting to risk it cracking from the ridiculous attraction her body feels to one Debbie Ocean. “I suppose I don’t know if you have the manners to not finish someone else’s drinks.”

“Oh honey, you like it anyway.” She says it so simply, so sure, so  _flirtatious_  and Lou can’t help but roll her eyes despite the heat creeping up her neck.

Behind Debbie, Jake and Max make obscene gestures with their fingers. Lou spares them a fleeting glance, before taking Debbie’s hand to leave the bar for the casino, but not without flipping the finger on her three friends.

-

_iii._

_do you find this happens all the time_ _  
_ _crucial point one day becomes a crime_

 

She knew this day was going to come, eventually, because Lou knows Debbie, and knows that Debbie is her person as much as she is Debbie’s.

It’s not like she and Debbie have been doing… nice things, lately. Lou can say the same about herself and the way she’s been living since ‘98. They’ve been gambling, cheating the games with basic arithmetics, as well as some cards. There’s some dining and dashing. There’s some picking of pockets of men who offer to buy them drinks.

It’s not that they don’t have the money.

It’s just fun.

(The way Debbie glows when they get away with it is seven shots of adrenaline to Lou’s heart.)

“You ready?” Debbie asks her, and it’s obvious that it’s not her first. Neither was it Lou’s, but this is her first with Debbie.

New Order blasts on the speakers of Lou’s car. Lou looks at Debbie, sporting a small bruise on her forehead after bumping into Lou’s cupboard, and feels her pulse quicken.

(She’d never tell her how looking at Debbie sometimes always feels like the first time, in the mosh pit at a Fleetwood Mac concert.)

It makes sense, for their first to be one of those large, corporate record stores selling at ridiculous prices. Lou lifts a hand to touch the tiny black-and-blue thing marking Debbie’s skin. “Born ready,” Lou tells her, and they go.

(“Looks like we managed to snag some Bauhaus ones from the truck,” announces Lou, when they’re sorting the assorted records on the floor of Lou’s place.

“Of course you  _love_  Bauhaus,” replies Debbie, who is radiating happiness and satisfaction, inspecting the Madonna ones -  _Celebration,_   _Ray of Light, Like A Prayer, True Blue._

Lou smiles at her, basking in the same glow that Debbie is emitting. “I’m fondly dubbed the  _Bauhaus Butch_.”

Taking the seat beside her, Debbie leans on Lou and rests her head on her shoulder, intoxicated and laughing into Lou’s clothes. “Pfft. You call yourself that.”

“Maybe I do.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m Lou.”

“Shut up,  _insufferable._ ”)

-

_iv._

_she got greta garbo's standoff sighs  
_ _she's got bette davis eyes_

_/_

_stargazing me_ _  
_ _in an upside down sea_

 

“If you could describe yourself as one song, what would it be?” Lou asks, in between counting cash and taking swigs of the bottle of Jack they procured from the convenience store.

“ _Point of No Return_ , Exposé,” Debbie replies simply, without hesitation, and Lou nods, seeing exactly why. “You?”

“Hmm.  _Modern Love_ , Bowie. I’d describe you as  _Bette Davis Eyes_ . That Kim Carnes song. Or  _Material Girl._ Or  _Uptown Girl_. You’re insatiable.”

(Lou stops there. She doesn’t want to give away all the songs that remind her of Debbie.)

Debbie laughs at that, tossing a wad of bills her way which Lou catches perfectly with one hand, chuckling when Debbie mutters ‘ _show-off’._ “You’re  _Stargazer._  You know that Siouxsie and the Banshees song? That one. You look like you walked right out of its music video. The lyrics were also very...  _you_.”

(Lou gets home. She finds the nearest record store, buys the record with  _Stargazer_  on it, and listens to it on repeat thinking of Debbie thinking about her to this terribly romantic song.)

-

_v._

_who can say when the roads meet_ _  
_ _that love might be in your heart_

 

Lou was never one for religious  _anything_ , but if the search of truth ends with her and Debbie, lying on polished, wooden floorboards, smoking weed to Enya (and sometimes Britney Spears), as the sun paints an orange glow in Debbie’s room, then she’d be content to spend the rest of eternity this way.

-

_vi._

_world will travel, oh so quickly_ _  
_ _travel first and lean towards this time_

 

It was unintentional; naming their jobs after songs they play before or after jumping into action and pulling every single one off successfully and without breaking a sweat.

One becomes the Bowie job. One becomes the Michael Jackson job. One becomes the New Order one (incidentally Debbie’s favorite, too).

Lou’s favorite ones are the Bauhaus job, and the Clash job when  _Train in Vain_ blasted on the speakers of her shitty car.

The list grows, and grows, and it just keeps happening. They’re new words in their shared vocabulary that no one else would understand.  _Oh, that was the New Order one, remember? Ceremony was playing when we were driving away from that pizza place?_

(Lou and Debbie let it happen.)

-

_vii._

_ziggy played for time, jiving us that we were voodoo_

_the kid was just crass, he was the nazz_

 

“I opened your package,” Lou says into her phone, hearing Debbie’s low ‘ _finally_ ’ on the other end. She’s somewhere in Germany, with Danny and some other cousins, and has been there for a few months.

_“Guess which one was Danny’s gift, and guess which one is mine.”_

She lifts up the limited Bauhaus record up, then sees Danny’s handwriting at the bottom right of the record.  _Keep up the good work, kid._

Lou raises a brow in disbelief. “Did Ocean steal this?”

 _“Surprisingly? He didn’t. Someone gave it to him but he was like, ‘doesn’t Lou like this shit?’”_ Lou laughs at Debbie’s poor impression of her brother, as she always does.  _“Have you seen mine?”_

She moves a few pieces of paper away to take the smaller, CD version of the record. On it was a light blue sticky note with a handwriting Lou knows like the back of her hand. Behind it was also a CD of Siouxsie and The Banshees’  _The Rapture_ , the one with  _Stargazer_ in it.

 _To usher you into the 21st century,_  the note said, and Lou’s heart hurts.

She misses Debbie, but refuses to say it - refuses to admit it. They’re a good team, and anything could happen at any time and they’re not gonna risk whatever this is for something that could be fickle and destructive.

She clears her throat, feels the lining thickening with emotion, and laughs, opts to take the jibing route as they always do.

“Deb, did  _you_  steal this?” Lou jokes. She misses Debbie Ocean. She misses Debbie Ocean. She misses Debbie Ocean.

 _“I didn’t_ .  _Can’t believe you would think that of me,”_ deadpans Debbie.  _“I bought it. Turns out I like you more than Danny, enough to spend on you.”_

Lou doesn’t have anything to say to that.

(She does, actually,  _many things_ , but none of them come out.)

-

_viii._

_and when you go there_  
_i’ll go there with you  
_ _where the streets have no name_

 

“So will you tell me where we’re going now?”

When Lou doesn’t reply, only giving her a smile, Debbie just rolls her eyes. “You get off being dodgy, don’t you, Miller?” But she turns up the music, a U2 CD playing  _The Joshua Tree_  - a gift from Claudette, to the both of them - in Lou’s new and improved car speakers.

Orange is a lovely color for Debbie, and though she wears nothing but black and dark blue and ‘very dark grey’, the hue that paints her skin in the starting sunset is enough to last Lou a lifetime of wanting to see Debbie Ocean in warm, bright shades.

Lou drives them away from the city until they’re out into the coast. Her shitty car with now a better sound system and air conditioning zooms across the highway, and they’re quite near until they’re there, at Lou’s favorite spot on top of a cliff overlooking the sea.

Debbie’s in awe, when they step out and closer to the edge. She bathes in orange now, a much darker shade, and Lou can’t stop looking. “Thought we needed some time off, away from everything and,” thinking about a shitty buyer that nearly gave Debbie an aneurysm, “... everyone.”

She brings out some snacks, and booze, then motion for Debbie to sit down on top of the trunk of Lou’s car with her.

Debbie sits with her, then surprises Lou by threading their fingers together. “You’re an idiot, Lou,” Debbie mutters, though Lou can hear the smile. “A disgustingly romantic and thoughtful idiot.”

“Don’t go soft on me, Ocean,” Lou teases her, despite feeling the exact same way. The push between her ribs grow each second that Debbie squeezes her hand more firmly. “But thanks too. For everything. You know what they are, Deb.”

Debbie says nothing, only snuggles closer, and points out absently how the sea looks like sparkling diamonds.

(That day, Lou knows two things:

One is that she knows that Debbie  _knows_  that on this day, seven years ago, they met at that Fleetwood Mac concert.

The second is that Lou knows she would follow Debbie Ocean to the ends of the earth.)

-

_ix._

_taking different roads_ _  
_ _then love, love will tear us apart again_

 

Claude Becker happens.

Handsome, smart, and Lou doesn’t trust him one bit.

Lou would rather not talk about it. There’d be a lot of door-slamming, yelling matches, cold shoulders and close-calls.

Being with Debbie hurt, and Lou didn’t want anything to do with her for some time.

(“He thinks Joy Division is shit, Deb? You’re serious.”

“He’s entitled to his opinion, Lou.”

“A  _wrong_ opinion, damn it.”)

-

_x._

_on a bed of nails she makes me wait_ _  
_ _and i wait, without you_

_/_

_stargazer reach out to touch_ _  
_ _with your mind that frees you so much_

 

Lou finds out about what went down with Debbie and Claude when Debbie’s uncle rings her up, a quarter before midnight that same day, saying that Debbie’s under the custody of the Feds, because Claude Becker played her, with an amateur con-man trick that was only successful since Debbie made the mistake of trusting his idiotic, bearded face.

The next time she sees Debbie, it’s at the parking lot of the court. They share a brief look, one that says,  _I’m sorry, I should have listened_ , in the way that Debbie Ocean would never actually say these words out loud.

Lou can only mirror back a sad, but supportive smile, behind the door of her car.

Later that day, she finds Claude Becker and socks him in the face so hard that he’s knocked out and Lou has a fractured knuckle.

( _“She’s goin’ to jail.”_ Debbie’s uncle says, over the phone, and Lou’s heart breaks knowing that she never saw Debbie in jail - not for anything; not in any scenario.

That night, Lou tries to drink everything away in the dead silence of her home.)

-

_xi._

_so weary this strait-jacket dreamer  
_ _so resigned to continue to suffer_

 

 _“You should visit her, kiddo. She’d appreciate it.”_ Lou hums, trying to sound like she agrees except she doesn’t, not one bit.

Lou knows Debbie, knows Debbie’s ego is bruised, most likely nearly beaten to death, and she’d probably not appreciate the  _I told you so_ look that Lou will be sporting every single time she visits, just to tease her and to make a point.

Instead of visiting, Lou asks Debbie’s uncle to bring her copy of a record of  _Rumours_ , with Lou underlining the letters on its back cover reading:  _Hope your prison wife’s cute_.

It’s sent back with more underlined letters, now in red ink.  _Hope so too. Visit aftr 6 mos?_

(“You needed six months to ready yourself for the  _I told you so_ look?”

Debbie, in orange clothing that Lou doesn’t particularly enjoy seeing on her, narrows her eyes at Lou through the thick glass. “If you were in my place, you’d take longer.”

Lou clutches her heart in mock-offense. “You wound me.” There is silence, until Lou breaks it. “You don’t belong here, Deb. You should be out here, free, with me.”

She’s met with a small lift of Debbie’s lips, before they’re told that visiting time is over.

“Hang in there, Deb,” Lou says, and it barely scrapes the surface of everything she’s ever wanted to tell Debbie Ocean.)

-

_xii._

_but you've learnt that as you grow weaker  
_ _there's less hurt because there's much less to hurt_

 

 _“Hey, stargazer,”_  is the first thing that Debbie says to her, as a free woman.  _“Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”_

It’s on the phone, but hearing Debbie’s voice after months - saying  _stargazer_ , more so - was like hearing the song for the first time. Lou recalls listening to it, one night, over and over again. Hers, and Debbie’s;  _theirs_.

-

_xiii._

_let's be as bad as we can be  
_ _we'll be as bad as we can be_

 

Lou’s loft has never been quiet, not even when Debbie was away. Lou didn’t play the albums that reminded her of Debbie, but she has an arsenal of more records.

Now, with Debbie back, new wave is back on her record player. It doesn’t hurt anymore, nor does it echo a small jolt of pain within her when she hears Debbie’s favorite songs because Debbie’s here, Debbie’s with her, Debbie’s plan is foolproof.

The loft has never been quiet, but now it’s even louder than before, with five other girls in charge of playing music that blasts throughout the space that they don’t usually get to use the record player, unless it’s Debbie, or Lou, or Tammy, who shares some of their tastes in punk.

The playlist becomes a strange mixture of trap, techno, punk, pop, alternative, and, thanks to Constance, a bit of K-Pop and J-Pop which have successfully driven Debbie insane.

(“Don’t know about you grandmas, but I’m diggin’ it,” Nineball says, and Constance gives her a very enthusiastic fist bump.”

Strangely, Lou’s into it as well.)

-

_xiv._

_one way or another, i'm gonna see you  
_ _i'm gonna meet you, meet you, meet you, meet you_

 

Before they board the truck, Debbie comes to find her, pulling at her uniform. When Lou opens her mouth to ask what’s wrong, Debbie pulls her into a kiss that doesn’t really register until Debbie pulls away - with determined eyes and lips set in a straight line, as if she hadn’t stood on her tiptoes to press their lips together.

The push between her ribs isn’t from worrying the plan won’t work, because this is Debbie’s plan, and Debbie Ocean’s plans always work.

“We’ll do great,” Lou tells her anyway, even if she knows that Debbie knows they’ll pull this off.

Debbie exhales a sigh of relief, then rocks back on her heels. “I know. I just felt like that was long overdue.”

“Well, that’s on both of us, baby,” Lou laughs, about to dive in for another kiss, but Constance - quite a presence - bangs the side of the truck and tells them to  _chop-chop_ , in reference to the chef’s jacket that Lou’s wearing.

Debbie, having grown fond of the young pickpocket, rolls her eyes and flips her the finger before looking back at Lou. “Which song will it be this time?” She gets out in one breath, excited and on fire, and Lou is drawn to Debbie like a moth to a flame.

“You’ll see,” is all Lou says, then she boards the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

(It’s the  _Toussant heist_ to everyone else, but to Lou and Debbie, it’s the  _One Way or Another_  one.)

-

_xv._

_tonight bring all your friends, because a group does it better  
_ _why river with a pair? let's have a full house of leather_

 

The party after the Toussant heist is just as wild as everyone thought it would be, even wilder knowing there’s twice the amount of money in their accounts, the entire team warming to Daphne Kluger quite easily.

“Mind if we play something from the 21st century?” Nine Ball jokes, already plugging in her phone and playing a song that Lou is aware is a Lady Gaga song.

At half past two in the morning, Constance has passed out on top of Amita, who is passed out on top of Daphne. Nine Ball had found a small nook in Lou’s place where it’s clean and devoid of alcohol, while Tammy and Rose left together.

They’d been sharing looks,  _meaningful looks_ , throughout the night and it’s enough foreplay for Lou. Fifteen years of being in Debbie Ocean’s proximity was a lifetime of foreplay.

When it’s lights off time, Debbie stands, motions for Lou to follow her to their now shared room.

“Shall we pick up where we left off?” Lou presses her into a wall, feeling the adrenaline of the heist coursing through her veins, a heady mixture with being intoxicated with great alcohol, great company, and Debbie Ocean, the woman she’d follow to the ends of the earth, fingering the loops of Lou’s pants.

Debbie says nothing, only kisses her again, and it tastes like the most delicious crime in the known universe.

(“I can’t believe we wasted years  _not_ doing this,” Debbie tells her, poking a finger at Lou’s side, which is enough to make Lou jerk a bit, but not in the way that Lou wants. She lets it slide, because she’s entirely sure Debbie’s glowing, post-coital and post-heist and Lou wants this feeling bottled and mass-produced and for her use only. “I don’t know why you never asked me out.”

“Why didn’t  _you_ ask me out?” Lou asks, and when Debbie shrugs, she presses a kiss to her forehead. “I guess we never planned a heist big enough for you to want to do that,” Lou says casually, as she traces the moles of Debbie’s back. Her finger stops moving. “Was that part of the plan you cooked up in solitary?”

When Debbie admits it, but not without a mumble, Lou gets kicked off the bed for laughing.)

-

_xvi._

_'cuz I hold the winning hand  
_ _just to get to stand beside you baby_

 

Christmas is more a formality for all of them than an actual religious holiday, so the team spends it together, sharing the Yuletide spirit with potluck food, booze, and an exchange-gift session which everyone has been looking forward to.

Lou receives a ridiculous amount of records, of each of the girls’ favorite artists, and Lou honest-to-goodness swears to listen to all of them.

When everyone takes their leave and they're alone, once again, in Lou’s loft, relaxing on the plush couch, Debbie stands - much to Lou’s dismay. She had been very comfortable, and she complains even when Debbie comes back with an elegantly wrapped square.

“For you,” is all that Debbie says, then resumes her place in the couch, watching Lou open the present - a record, again, and it’s another  _Rumours_ album. “Look inside it,” continues Debbie, just when Lou opens her mouth to say something about her copy, with underlined letters.

When Lou pulls out the vinyl, the material is clear but it shines in the light and Lou  _knows_  this is a small, pulverized diamond scattered inside it.

It’s gorgeous, the most beautiful one Lou had ever laid her eyes on, and it’s her favorite record on earth. “This is—baby, is _this_  a proposal?” Lou half-jokes, flipping the vinyl and inspecting how the light bounces off of it.

“I finally  _had_  a diamond,” Debbie laughs, then she shakes her head. Lou knows that it isn’t, doesn’t take offense, isn’t disappointed. They haven’t really talked about it, and Debbie’s not really the type to want to get hitched spontaneously. “I just thought you might like it. Just a small thank you. From me. For being you.”

Debbie’s not one for words, or words with feelings, so Lou puts and end to her misery and kisses her soundly, and everything is right in this world. “I love it,” Lou mumbles into her lips. “I love  _you_. Thank you.”

Debbie says nothing, but she doesn’t need to, not when her fingers curl around Lou’s securely saying everything that needs to be said.

There’s silence, only the sounds of the heater and each other breathing, and Lou’s falling asleep, quite sure that Debbie has fallen asleep too until Debbie mumbles, into Lou’s chest: “If you think Stevie is still  _okay_ when the record is  _literally_  a diamond, I think we should stop seeing each other.”

Lou’s too tired and content and comfortable  to shove Debbie off like she wants, so she kisses her forehead instead and mutters, “it’s been fifteen years, babe. Let it go.”

Debbie yawns, moving even closer into Lou’s space. “Never.”

Then sleep finds them.

-

Six months later, Debbie Ocean  _does_  propose. Not with a multi-million dollar idea, nor a record, but with an actual ring.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh if you gays have twitter please follow me @belivets cos none of my followers care about o8, or my o8 void account @bauhausbutch


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